Sweet Talker
by gloryblastit
Summary: What Sylvia is up to while Dallas is in reform school.
1. Default Chapter

Sylvia felt that she shouldn't be surprised that Dallas got sent to reform school. He'd told her casually enough, just off hand, not looking like he gave a shit about anything. Not about going to the reform school and not about her.  
He was already gone. He'd left that day. Sylvia stared at the ring he'd given her, a high school ring and a real expensive one with a fancy stone. It wasn't his, really. He'd jumped some senior to get it. She twirled it around her finger.  
She missed him already and felt mad at herself for it. He sure as shit didn't miss her. She kicked the ground with the pointed toe of her high heeled shoe and lit up a cigarette.  
"Tramp," A soc girl said as she walked by her. Sylvia was leaning against the wall by the entrance to the school. She'd cut her last class, too upset about Dallas to pay attention. Now everyone was leaving.  
"Fuck you!" Sylvia called after her. Damn socs in their 100 dollar dresses and stuck up little noses. Fuck them. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under the heel of her shoe.  
She walked home slowly, sadly, thinking of that damn Dallas getting sent to reform school again. What was it this time? That he cut school half the time? That he was drunk when he did bother to show up, that he beat up that kid in the parking lot? She had told him not long ago that they don't fucking send you to reform school forever.  
"Sooner or later, "she had said, "they send you to jail," Dallas had shrugged. He'd been in jail at ten for stealing a car or something. She didn't really know.  
When she got home her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, a full glass of gin and an empty bottle of gin in front of her. Her mother had the sallow complexion of a woman who only went out at night. A Virginia slim was slowly turning to ash between her slim fingers.  
"Sylvia," her mother said, her name slurred around the edges. Someone who didn't know her would not be able to tell that she was drunk. But Sylvia could tell.  
"Your father switched jobs again," her mother said, and took a long swallow of the gin. Sylvia knew what this meant. He did it all the time. Once child support caught up with him he switched jobs and then her mother wouldn't get any checks until he filed his taxes again.  
"So what, mom, who gives a shit?" Her mother shrugged and shifted her gaze slightly so that she was looking beyond Sylvia and out the window. Sylvia turned and looked out it, too. Dirty window because her mother never cleaned it, never cleaned anything. She saw the crappy houses and the weedy lawns and the litter in the street. She hated her house and she hated her neighborhood but most of all she hated Dallas for getting in trouble again and leaving her alone.  
When the sun went down her mother put on her tight whore red dress and blood red lipstick, grabbed her little purse that didn't have any money in it because all those drunk men at the bar bought her drinks. She left and didn't say goodbye. Sylvia didn't care. She had plans of her own.  
She didn't bother to change her clothes. Her tight little mini skirt and tight little halter top would do just fine. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and reapplied her make up. Sylvia put on makeup like a warrior, it was her war paint, her defense against the world. Crimson lips and blue eyelids and streaks of blush applied in such a way that her cheekbones looked higher, like an Indian or a super model.  
From her mother she learned that she didn't need money when she went to a bar. Men had money and that was fine. Her mother went to The Club Car, a swanky bar that played Elvis. Sylvia went to The Brick, a honky tonk bar with slouchy drugged out cowboys and juvenile delinquents. She'd met Dallas there and was in love with him before the night was over. He didn't grease his hair but he was so cool he could get away with it. His hair was so blond, like a child's. And his eyes, always narrowed in anger, that strange shade of blue.  
She marched out of the house, protected in her make up and spike heels, and she slipped Dallas' ring off her finger and into her pocket. She always had worn it on the third finger of her left hand like it was a wedding ring. Her mother had noticed it one day and didn't ask her about the boy who gave it to her.  
"Know why you wear it on that finger?" her mother had said in her creepy way. Sylvia shook her head no.  
"There's a vein in that finger that goes directly to the heart," Sylvia had just gazed at her with wide eyes, and her mother got up and quietly puked in the other room.  
The bar welcomed her with the music and the smoke and all the people crowded together, the buzz of all the conversations creating its own unique sound. The bartender and owner was a short, beer paunchy, ruddy old guy that everyone called Hair Bear. Hair Bear had kissed her once, a forcefull and sloppy kiss that made her panic, dreading he would do more. But he didn't, just smiled drunkenly at her with his chipped and blackening teeth and he told her how cute she was.  
She liked to look at the boys in here, cowboy hats slung low over their eyes, muscles visible beneath thin tee shirts. Strong square fingers circling beer bottles. She liked to look but she didn't so much like them looking at her. She could feel their eyes crawling over her body like bugs, lingering too long in spots so that she wanted to crawl away, curl up into a ball...  
"Hey, sweetheart, want a drink?" A redhead, but not that awful crinkly orange red hair. His hair was a sleek dark red and his brown eyes looked to be the same color as his hair in this light. Sylvia licked her top lip and nodded.  
He got her a beer and that was fine, mixed drinks hit her too quick and Hair Bear didn't even know how to make half of them. She thanked him softly and took a long swallow, still hurting over Dallas but she knew enough drinks would take the pain away. They always did. She lit a cigarette and stared at the kid's red hair. Two more drinks and she'd touch it. Right now she didn't dare.  
Music, music, music. She could feel the pulse of it somewhere deep inside and the beer and the cigarettes and the music combined to make her feel better. Fuck Dallas. So he left, so what? This kid was right here.  
"What's your name?" she said in her breathy voice, her little sexy voice.  
"Austin," Oh fuck. Trade one city for another, it was all the same. He had freckles but not the garish ones some red heads were saddled with, just a light dusting across the bridge of his nose.  
He bought her a new beer every time she had a few sips left so before she knew it she had drank four. She reached out and touched his hair, it was as silky as it looked. She tried to guess his age. 22? 26? 30? It was hard to tell and it didn't really matter.  
She was halfway through her fifth beer and she had smoked so much she could taste ashes in her mouth and he grabbed her hand.  
"C'mon," he whispered right into her ear, sending a little chill up her spine. The alcohol had dulled her already dull senses. She didn't protest. Just followed him through the crowd and to the door that lead to the stairs. There were rooms above the bar, it used to be some sort of hotel before Hair Bear bought the place. Now it was a different sort of hotel.  
The rooms were small, with bare light bulbs swinging from ropes over the single beds. She'd been in the rooms before.  
Austin started kissing her and she tried to set her beer down on the little nightstand but couldn't quite manage it. It tipped over and the beer ran down the side of the table. Still kissing her he walked over to the bed and she stumble backwards until her legs hit the bed and she sat.  
"You're pretty," he said, and she could tell by his eyes that he was drunker than she had thought. So was she. He pushed her back so she laid down and she felt unable to fight. She didn't care anyway. It didn't matter anyway. Dallas was gone and who knew for how long?  
He started taking her clothes off and she closed her eyes and let him. Nothing mattered anyway. 


	2. ch2

The sun woke her up, shining full on her face. She felt the make up caked on her face, smeared and melting off in the bright sun. She felt the sharp pulse of the hangover headache and the queasy feeling of needing to puke. The boy from last night wasn't around but that didn't surprise her. She didn't even care.  
She got up, feeling shaky and thirsty, and put her clothes on, stumbled to the bathroom. She tried to puke but there was just nothing there, dry heaves. She leaned her head against the cool tile of the bathroom wall.  
Did last night help her forget about Dallas? No. Only for a little while, but the alcohol buzz always goes away and she's left with herself. So she went home, the brightness of the day mocking her dark mood.  
At home the rooms were musty and thick with her mother's cigarette smoke. Smashed butts crowded all the little glass ashtrays. Her mother slept on the couch and she looked dead. Sylvia watched her closely to be sure she was breathing.  
There was a fingerful of vodka left in a cupboard and Sylvia poured it into a shot glass and downed it quick, like medicine. Her mother said a little alcohol helps a hangover. And she should know. So she downed it and headed to her bedroom to sleep. No school for her today.  
She woke up in the late afternoon. Her mother was sitting in the living room, smoking, sipping what looked like a martini. She didn't seem to notice Sylvia. Sylvia left without a word.  
Outside, bright day, she was bored. She wouldn't get to look forward to seeing Dallas, his mean eyes and quick smile. Damn him. Why'd he have to go and get sent to the reform school? Didn't he know she'd be lonely without him? She kicked a little rock hard and watched it clatter away.  
What could she do until school let out? She went to the pool hall that was packed with kids at night and war veterans during the day. Inside it was cool and dark, and her eyes adjusted slowly. She saw the overweight men with long mustaches lean over the pool tables, the green felt scratched and cigarette burned despite the signs that said not to smoke near the pool tables.  
She sat at the bar and ordered a coke, sipped it when it came and felt glad her hangover was gone.  
"Why ain't you in school?" The old guy who ran the bar said. He didn't really care, though. He was just messing with her.  
"Didn't feel like going," Her coke done and it was almost time school let out, then she could really find something to do.  
She went outside, just walked around. She didn't feel like going to her house, sitting with her eerie mother, smoking cigarettes and maybe drinking because her mother didn't give a shit what she did. She wanted to find a way to beat this loneliness, to get Dallas out of her head. The heart wants what it wants. Oh, fuck it.  
Then she saw those kids Dallas usually hung out with, smoking and drinking and kicking a football half heartedly in the vacant lot. At night there was usually a fire in that lot, a little bonfire and kids just killing time, avoiding their house, looking for fights.  
She headed over. She saw Sandy, Soda's girlfriend, hanging on his arm, smoking like she thought she was some worldly slut. She really couldn't stand that girl sometimes and she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because Soda was dependable and not getting sent to jail or reform school all the fucking time. Maybe it was because that little slut seemed to get more respect and she'd be damned as to why. She slept around on Soda just as much as Sylvia did to Dallas but all anybody seemed to notice was her soft blond hair, little china blue eyes, no make up.  
She wanted somebody dependable like Soda. Soda was an impossibility, he was so in love with Sandy it was almost sickening, puppy dog eyes following her everywhere...His friend Steve was kind of cute in an angry 'I hate the world' sort of way but he had some little girlfriend, too. Sylvia was almost sure of it.  
She reached the lot and headed straight for Soda. Man, was he cute.  
"Hey, can I bum a cigarette?" Sylvia said in her suger sweet voice, leaning on him a little. Sandy glared at her and Sylvia smirked back. Soda dug in his pockets and handed her one, then moved away. She didn't care, she only leaned on him to bug Sandy.  
His little brother Ponyboy watched avidly, looking both shocked and amused. He was no slouch, that one. Smart kid and cute, like Soda without the charm but he was so young. What was he, 13? She thought so. They had an older brother, Darry. Sylvia didn't see him much, he worked all the time. He was like Dally's opposite, responsible and always worried about shit. Dally didn't worry about anything.  
She noticed Johnny sitting off to the side, smoking. He was kind of cute, funny she hadn't noticed before. Black hair, big black eyes, he always looked so sad. Dally's little pet. Wouldn't that bug the shit out of him if she hooked up with Johnny! The idea was so good it nearly took her mind off of Dallas altogether.  
"Hey, Johnny, what's up?" she said, sitting right next to him. He looked at her quick, then looked away.  
"Nothin' " he said softly. Sylvia bit her lip, then smiled. This was going to be fun. 


	3. ch3

She laid her head on his shoulder and she felt him tense, felt the stiff denim of his jean jacket against her cheek.  
  
Fuck Dallas. She'd have Johnny.  
  
She wondered how old he was. Younger than Dally, she thought. But she was fairly certain he was a freshman like Ponyboy...  
  
"How old are you?" she said, her voice a breathy little whisper because she was so close to him. He looked so young to her.  
  
"15," Sylvia smiled, her wicked little grin. He was her age and that was fine.  
  
He was looking at her warily, probably feeling some allegiance to Dally. Sylvia felt confident she could get him to overcome that.  
  
After all, Dallas wasn't around and wouldn't be for awhile. He should have known she'd get lonely. In fact, whatever would happen couldn't really be considered her fault.  
  
"Oh, shit," Soda said, disentangling himself from Sandy, that little holier than thou whore, "I gotta get to work,"  
  
"Ponyboy, you better get home," Soda called over his shoulder.  
  
They all drifted away like a sit com, extra characters exiting stage left. Just her and Johnny beneath the smog.  
  
Maybe Steve had to go to work, too. He followed after Soda toward the DX where they worked. But he turned back and stared hard at her and Johnny. Sylvia stared back and she felt the anger starting, tingling in her fingertips and her toes. 'Just start with me,' her look said, 'just try it,'. He turned and trotted after Soda. Johnny hadn't noticed, he was looking the other way.  
  
"What's with him?" she said, anger edging into her voice, souring it a bit.  
  
"Who?" Johnny said, grounding out his cigarette under his sneaker.  
  
"Nevermind," she said, sweetness again, and she smiled a slow and sleepy smile at him.  
  
He really was cute. Not evilly handsome like Dallas or movie star like Soda or matter of fact like Ponyboy but still, there was something. Once you notice it you can't unnotice it. The dark greasy hair hanging in his eyes, his worn and faded clothes, scuffed sneakers, the way he hardly ever looks up.  
  
She edged her hand close to his and felt scared to try and hold it. She almost laughed, she hadn't felt scared in so long. She let that red head kid from the bar fuck her but she was scared to hold Johnny's hand?  
  
He was looking at her, not with lust like guys usually looked at her, especially Dallas. He was looking at her with curiosity.  
  
She had hardly talked to him before today. He was always so quiet and she was usually preoccupied with Dallas, trying to guess his mood, trying to figure out how drunk he was, when he'd get into another fight.  
  
Rrrrrrr. Dallas. She wanted to kill him. He was so fucking cool, he couldn't give a shit about anything but himself. Her tears blurred the ground and she brushed them away angrily. Black mascara on the backs of her hands. She must look a mess.  
  
She grabbed Johnny's hand and held it. He looked at her with his wide eyes and they were so dark she could hardly believe it.  
  
She leaned toward him and kissed him. He sucked in his breath and backed up but she kept kissing him, insistently. He closed his eyes.  
  
It was different from kissing Dallas, he was so aggressive and kissing him was like being devoured. But kissing Johnny was softer, deliciously tentative.  
  
She stopped and he opened his eyes slowly, his breathing rapid. Sylvia smiled, a tiny smile touching the corners of her lips.  
  
"Hey Johnny, can I see you later?" Her voice was a little rustle of silk and he nodded, keeping his eyes on her like he was afraid of what she might do next. 


	4. ch4

Sylvia toddled like a baby on her spiky heels. She could still taste Johnny's kiss, like cigarettes and apples. Her kissing Johnny would bug the fuck out of Dally and that is why it made her so happy.  
She was heading home, hoping her mother remembered to buy something for supper.  
"Hey!" Sylvia looked up at the voice. She was three houses from her own. It was Steve. Steve Randle. Soda's buddy. Vampire teeth, oil or grease on his hands and his DX shirt where he'd tried to wipe it off.  
He was glaring at her.  
"What?" she said, her voice hard.  
"Leave Johnny alone,"  
"What's it to you?"  
He licked his lips and looked around quickly, reminding her of a sick, viscious alley cat.  
"Look, stay away from him or I'll beat the tar out of you,"  
"Just try it," she said, stepping toward him, ready to kick him square in the balls.  
"I mean it, Sylvia. Leave him alone,"  
"He's a big boy. I'm sure he can take care of himself,"  
Steve scowled and headed back to the DX. No one told her what to do. Not her dead beat father who came around once every couple of years with presents and excuses. Not her smashed off her ass mother with her cigarettes and dead eye glaze, not Dally, not no one. So Steve can just fuck off.  
Her mother was no where around. The little glass ashtrays were emptied and gleaming in the yellow afternoon light. The trash was filled with empty gin bottles and olive jars. So she had cleaned.  
Sylvia looked around for some sort of supper. All she found was a can of tomato soup in the pantry. She heated it up. She only ate sometimes to keep from feeling the pain of not eating.  
Now her scheme to hook up with Johnny would bug Dally and Steve. Good. The more people bothered by her actions the better. And she would see him tonight.  
She liked Dally because he was strong and hard, dangerous. She liked Johnny for the opposite reasons. He was vulnerable, she wanted to protect him. Nothing is ever equal.  
The soup done and she didn't feel satisfied, only not hungry. She lit one of her mother's cigarettes and watched the sky darken, wondered where Johnny was, might be. She didn't see him around a lot, but then she was mostly at the Brick, drinking her free drinks.  
Did he drink? He must, everyone did in this neighborhood. You needed to drink to be in this neighborhood.  
She didn't want to go hunting for him but she supposed she would, just to stick it to Dally for screwing her over and Steve for trying to tell her what to do. And she really did want to see him.  
She headed out, feeling the cool air against her cheek. The lot was empty. She went to the Dingo, saw some kids she knew but not Johnny.  
"Hey, you seen Johnny Cade?" she said to a tough little shit she went to school with. He had on a white tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a cigarette tucked behind one ear.  
"Quiet, black haired kid?" She nodded and felt a giddy little hope he had seen him.  
"Naw, ain't seen him,"  
The Curtis'. He was probably there. And maybe she'd get to see Soda. She wanted to fuck him, just once. She was sure Sandy wouldn't mind.  
The Curtis house was dark but she saw the flickery light of the T.V. Maybe somebody was home.  
She knocked and waited.  
"Come in!" Ponyboy. She came in. He was staring at the T.V. in the dark.  
"Hey, Ponyboy, are you alone?" She licked her lips, shifted from one high heeled shoe to the other. He nodded.  
"Do you know where Johnny is?" He shrugged.  
"Probably his house,"  
"Thanks," She turned, touched the door handle.  
"I wouldn't go there, though," he said calmly.  
"Why?" She turned back to him, her hand still on the door handle. His face looked almost eerie in the flickery glow of the T.V. His eyes were green.  
"His parents were fighting,"  
She knew Johnny was knocked around by his father all the time, everyone knew. A lot of kids in this neighborhood didn't have their father around. Maybe they were the lucky ones. She'd hate for her father to be hulking around the house, drinking, stinking up the place, back handing her mother and pounding on her.  
"I'll risk it," she said. Ponyboy shrugged, he'd tried. Fear was not Sylvia's natural state. She wasn't afraid of Johnny's parents or anything else.  
Johnny's house was quiet. If his parents had been fighting they weren't now. Maybe they were passed out.  
She knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Tapped her shoe on the ground in an impatient rhythm. Knocked loud, forceful, three times, like a cop.  
The door slowly opened. Johnny looked at her dully. She saw blood on the side of his mouth and under his nose.  
"What?" he said.  
The flatness of his tone took her off guard. She tried to see beyond him into the house. Not being afraid didn't mean being stupid.  
"They're not here," he said.  
"Where are they?"  
He shrugged and his look darkened.  
"A bar, a liquor store, who the hell knows?"  
"You wanna come to my house? My mom's not home either,"  
  
"Yeah, o.k. I'd rather be anywhere but here,"  
  
Sylvia held Johnny's hand but it was more like she was pulling him by the hand to her house. He was walking kind of slow and wincing once in a while, rubbing his side.  
  
She flipped on the light and fell into the chair her mom usually sat in.  
  
"Oh, sweetie!" Johnny looked a lot worse in the light. His nose and his mouth were bleeding and one eye looked puffy and watery and he held his left side tight with his right hand.  
  
"I'm fine," he said, sitting on the couch.  
  
"Hold on, I'll get some stuff..." She kicked her stupid black spike heels off and padded down the hall to the bathroom. She wet a facecloth and grabbed the tin of band aids and a box of tissue, feeling her supplies weren't adequate. She wanted to kick Johnny's father in the head. Everyone hated that bastard.  
  
She set the stuff down on the fake particle board end table her mother bought at some junk sale. She knocked the stupid plastic knick knack to the floor.  
  
She took the face cloth and went to clean the blood from his mouth but he jerked away.  
  
"Johnny, shhhh, it's o.k.," she said, moving slowly, gently cleaning the blood from his mouth and still bleeding nose.  
  
The whole time he held his left side. She reached for his shirt, to lift it up, but he grabbed her wrist.  
  
"No," he said softly.  
  
"Yeah, you've been holding your side since you got here. Now let's see," She took his hand from her wrist with her other hand and he sunk back into the couch, looked away.  
  
She lifted his shirt and saw old bruises and the rib where he'd been holding it didn't look right. She touched it. He grunted in pain and pushed her away.  
  
"You're going to the hospital," she said, lowering his shirt. There was nothing she could do for it.  
  
"No,"  
  
"Yeah, what if your ribs are broken? It could puncture your lung or="  
  
"No,"  
  
She sighed, looked down at the bloody face cloth in her hand.  
  
"Yeah, Johnny, I think you should, I="  
  
"Well, I ain't going,"  
  
"Why? What's the big="  
  
"They'll ask what happened,"  
  
"So what? Tell 'em your dick head father beat the shit out of you!"  
  
"No, Sylvia, leave me alone!" He winced and held his side again. "I said I ain't gonna go. I hate hospitals, o.k.? And..." He closed his eyes and rocked forward, his eyes squeezed shut.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked at her, sadness replacing the dull look.  
  
She sat next to him and carefully laid her head on his shoulder, trying not to hurt him. She brushed his hair out of his eyes.  
  
"O.K., Johnny, o.k. You don't have to go," 


	5. ch5

If her mother had left any booze in the house she would have offered it to him. But she didn't, she drank all of it.

He was asleep on the couch, breathing deeply. Sylvia perched on the chair, smoking and watching him. Watching Johnny sleep reminded her of something, this time when Dallas had cheated on her and she found out.

It was just some slut girl he'd picked up, make up like paint, peroxide blond slut. But she saw red. She wasn't quite sure why but it had seemed like a betrayal. And she had vowed to make him pay.

She had found herself on the edge of town, drunk, with a guy she didn't remember hooking up with. Well, she did, but it was in flashes, disconnected polaroids.

They were in his car listening to something country or blue grass and she noticed the thick beard stubble on his cheeks, the lines on his face, the disorienting fact that she didn't even know his name, and she felt nauseas.

"Pull over, I'm gonna puke," she had said, clutching the door handle. He jerked the car to the side of the road and she opened the door, leaned out and threw up.

"Look, I'm sick. Just bring me home," she said.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, and she heard the snarl in his voice and saw the flat sheen to his eyes.

"Fuck you," she said, and grabbed the door handle. He had grabbed her arm, punched her. Sylvia was only momentarily stunned, then lifted her leg and brought her foot down squarely on his balls.

"Fuck you," she said again as she left and he writhed in pain.

She remembered when she got home how strangely sleepy she felt, almost like she was drugged, the after effects of the adrenaline.

She laid down next to Johnny. He stirred a little but didn't wake. He really was good looking, despite the bruises. She ran her finger lightly across his cheek and kissed him.

"'Nite, Johnny,"

She fell asleep comfortable in his warmth, almost happy.

"Who the hell is this?"

Sylvia opened one eye and saw her mother standing in the yellow morning sun that streamed in the living room window. Her mother looked like the last girl at the party, mascara blurred and black around her eyes, lipstick hastily reapplied and a bit off center, sallow night time complexion crumbling in the day light.

"Sylvia, who the hell is this?"

Johnny sat up, rubbed his eyes, gazed at her mother still half asleep.

"A friend, uh, he needed a place to sleep,"

Her mother was probably still drunk, looked at the two of them with angry contempt.

"Not going to school today, Sylvia, huh?" she said, throwing her empty purse onto the chair, heading to the kitchen to make coffee and guzzle aspirins.

"No, I'm going," Sylvia headed to the bathroom, embarrassed that Johnny saw her smashed vampire mother, mad that she came home bossy and pretending to be some sort of parent.

She changed, washed up, got ready for school. When she came out her mother was leaning in a kitchen chair, drinking coffee and fighting a hangover. Johnny was sitting on the couch, still looking sleepy, a cigarette in his hand.

"Coming?" she said to him, ignoring her mother. He nodded and they left.

He went to his house to change clothes and she went with him. His house was dark, kind of dusty, sparsely furnished.

"Your parents..." Sylvia said, not sure what to say or ask about them.

"Don't worry. They're never up in the morning," She liked Johnny's voice, kind of deep and scratchy. He went up to his room and Sylvia waited in the living room, noticing the holes in the walls, empty beer and liquor bottles.

He came down dressed in jeans and a different tee shirt under his jean jacket.

"Ready?" he said, peering at her from under his shaggy bangs and for just a moment she felt that light headed stomach twisting lust.

"Yeah, let's go," she said.

She was shocked they arrived at school before the first bell. She saw Steve Randle glaring at her because she was with Johnny. What was with that kid? She'd give him something to glare at.

"Johnny," she said softly.

"Huh?" He turned to her and she put her arms around him, winked at Steve over Johnny's shoulder, then kissed him, a long kiss.


	6. ch6

Steve narrowed his eyes at her and she slung her arms around Johnny's neck, leaned her forehead against his.

"See you later," she said in her soft little girl's voice.

"Yeah," he said, and walked toward his homeroom. She watched him.

What was Steve's fucking problem? Did he fucking own Johnny or what? She almost wished he'd come over and say some more shit to her. It would feel good to give him a nice swift kick.

She watched Steve sling an arm around Johnny's neck and start talking to him, she shook her head and mumbled, 'bastard,'.

She headed to her own homeroom trying to ignore the hostile sideways glances of the socs, or ignoring the fact that she might have imagined the glances.

Her thoughts vacillated all day between Johnny and Dally. Something about Johnny, so troubled and kind of lost, it just drew her in. Screwing over Dallas by fooling around with him was easy.

She missed Dallas, though. Couldn't help it. She missed his squinty stare, his quick unexpected smile. She twirled the ring around her finger, the large stone reflecting the florescent light.

She skipped math class, headed to the bathroom to smoke. She sat on the wide windowsill, blue paint flaking off, and blew the smoke out the open window.

She was applying a fresh coat of red lipstick when a soc walked in, her neutral expression darkening with scorn and contempt. Sylvia watched the girl's reflection take a brush from her purse and run it through her hair.

"What's a white trash whore like you doing here?" the soc girl said in a sugar sweet voice, the strands of her hair running through the brush like silk.

"Fuck you, cunt," With that Sylvia walked out before she punched that rich little bitch right in the face.

The hall of the school was still and dark, lit only by the light seeping from the classrooms. When she found herself unexpectedly alone like this she felt strange, like she was suddenly alone in the world.

She half expected Johnny to be waiting for her after school, his soft 'yeah' when she said she'd see him later took on the proportions of a promise or a vow, and she felt crazily disappointed when she didn't see him.

She waited, feeling pathetic and desperate as kids streamed out of the building, heading toward buses or cars or just walking. Most of them ignored her but a few favored her with a nasty glance.

Oh well, fuck it. Didn't matter anyway. She headed home slowly, wishing she had worn sneakers instead of these stupid high heels. The click click of the heels followed her the whole way home.

……………………………………………………………………..

"Sylvia baby, don't wait up," her mother said, tugging down the mini skirt that barely covered the top of her thighs.

"Yep," Don't wait up meant her mother didn't plan on coming home. Sylvia shrugged, not wanting to admit that she could have used some distraction tonight, even the weird vampire like company of her mother. She didn't want to admit that she might lose her fucking mind in the empty house with only her jagged thoughts to keep her company.

She didn't turn on the T.V. when her mother left, she just listened to the leaky bathroom faucet, the rattle of the furnace, and the crackle of the silence around her.

11 o'clock. Sylvia felt stir crazy, went to her room, kicked off the heels, peeled off the dress, and dug around in her drawers until she found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She managed to find an old pair of tennis shoes shoved in the back of the closet and she put those on.

She headed out walking fast. Hot thick tears welled up as she at once missed and was angry with Dallas, and Johnny.

Nearing the lot she saw the tiny red glow of a lit cigarette, and getting closer the darkness behind the tiny red glow resolved itself into none other than Johnny Cade, smoking and shivering in that thin jean jacket of his.

"Johnny," she said, trying hard to keep the shrill note of accusation from her voice.

"Hey," he said, his voice and expression flat.


	7. ch7

"Where were you?" she said, and wanted to kick herself for asking such a naked, desperate question. But it was hard to help it. His red luscious lips, his dark eye lashes, the fragileness and toughness that he had made her ask stupid questions.

"When?" His voice was soft, and he gazed at her through the cigarette smoke.

"After school, I thought you'd wait…" Sylvia looked up at the sky, almost turning and leaving. Fuck him. If he didn't want to wait for her that was his business, and she'd be damned if she gave a shit.

"Oh," It was noncommittal and Sylvia had had enough. She wanted to kiss him anyway, wanted to lay next to him maybe, wanted to fuck him.

"Gimme a cigarette," She stared at him and waited while he dug the cigarettes out of his pocket and plucked one out for her. He held it up to her and she grabbed it, stared over his head at the trees and the street beyond them, wondered why she felt betrayed.

She got sick of boys sometimes, the way they were thoughtless and careless. Maybe Johnny had seemed different, less likely to crumble her feelings like Dallas and the boys at the bars. But he sat there obviously not caring if she was there or not. He never sought her out.

She wanted to hurt him, kick him in the balls, maybe. Watch him curl up in pain because he hurt her. He said he'd wait and he didn't.

Instead she sat next to him, watched as he pitched the cigarette butt high and it arched down. She finished her cigarette and ground it under her sneaker.

He sat next to her, not talking and not looking at her. His hair looked wet because of all the grease he put in it. He was so different from Dallas it was almost staggering. And all at once she missed Dallas, and felt bad she was fooling around with his friend, his little pet.

Johnny lit another cigarette and glanced at her nervously, shifted a little so he wasn't as close to her.

She focused on little things, the way his hair touched the collar of his jacket and curled, the way he held the cigarette and brought it to his lips. She wondered what Dallas was doing at that very second.

Johnny pitched that cigarette and looked at the two cigarettes left in his pack, shook his head.

"Hey," she said, just so he'd look at her. He did, and beyond the wounded suspiciousness always in his eyes there was something else. Distrust. Disgust. Why was he making her feel like shit?

She leaned toward him, tried to kiss him. He pulled away but she insisted. He gently pushed her away.

"No, Sylvia, I can't kiss you,"

"Why?" The hurt in her voice made her angry and she stared at him. This hadn't happened before with boys like him. Low class hoods, greasers, they never pushed her away. Socs, yeah. The few she'd slummed around with always ended up pushing her away. She supposed the socs were slumming with her.

"Why?" she said again, frustrated by his quietness, his pushing her away. He was worse off than she was, getting beatings at home, wearing his second hand salvation army clothes.

"Um, it's not a good idea. I just want to be your friend,"

She stared at him. Friend? She didn't have friends. All girls, socs and greaser girls were her enemies, if they were anything to her at all. And boys were just for fucking. He wants to be friends?

He stood up, walked over to the fire, kicked at a log. Sparks flew up, briefly lighting his face and she saw that he was lying. He didn't want to be friends. He wanted nothing to do with her.

"You don't want to be friends, you fucking liar,"

Johnny's eyes went round and he winced. Sylvia stood up, walked over to him and shoved him. He staggered a little and eyed her warily.

"Fuck you," she said, and left, walking fast.


	8. ch8

Back at her house her mother wasn't home. The house seemed strange, more silent than when she'd left it. She turned on the T.V., the living room light and the kitchen light, just for some company.

She stood stock still in the middle of the living room, felt anger swirling through her cells.

Dallas and Johnny, they were the same, both hurtful in their own ways. Sylvia squeezed her eyes shut and wondered why she needed them to make her happy.

She grabbed the lamp off a table, ripped the cord right from the wall, smashed it on the floor. The sudden noise, the shattering glass, it pushed back the empty sadness she'd been feeling.

Fuck Dallas! Grabbed a cheap ass plastic knick knack and threw it at the wall. Fuck Johnny, scared little shit, and she kicked over the coffee table.

She kicked the wall, felt a bright vicious happiness at the sudden pain. She limped off to bed, not caring about the mess. She didn't need them, those boys, she didn't need anyone. Not anyone at all.

……………………………………..

"Uh, Sylvia?" Her mother. And judging from the light it was fairly early in the morning. Sylvia opened an eye, wondered at the dull throbbing pain in her foot. Then she remembered meeting Johnny at the lot. Finding him there, actually. Because he didn't go out of his way to see her. At least Dallas would go out of his way for her.

"Sylvia?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to the living room?"

She closed her eyes again, felt an echo of the rage she'd felt last night. Who knew Johnny Cade could be so…stubborn? So smug?

"It, uh. I was just mad,"

"Mad?" Her mother was calm, had already upturned the coffee table, swept up the glass, threw away the lamp. She understood this kind of anger.

"Mad about what?" She sat on the edge of Sylvia's bed, smoothed her hair. These were the rare times, when her mother took it in her head to do some mothering.

"Remember that kid that was over here the other morning? The kid with the black hair who was all beat up?"

Her mother nodded, still smoothing her hair. Sylvia liked her cool touch.

"Well he, I liked him, you know? I thought I really did and he just…" She thought he just threw it away but she didn't say it. But her mother knew and nodded.

…………………………………….

At school she was aloof. Cool. She didn't see Johnny, but he missed a lot of school. She saw Steve smiling at her like a damn Chesy cat.

"So, see Johnny lately?" He slid up to her, put a lecherous arm around her. She shoved him off.

"No,"

"Oh, no?" His tone was mean and playful.

"No, why?" She tried to stay cool but an edge of irritation had crept in.

"I just wondered how you two are getting along lately,"

And then it hit her. Damn Steve, he must have convinced Johnny to steer clear of her.

Poor little Johnny, so easily influenced by his friends. But if they could influence him then so could she.

"Well, I haven't seen him," The ice cool was back and she walked smoothly away.

At home, watching T.V., she was feeling better. Her mother was out, it was early, only just afternoon. It was 4:30. She watched kids play baseball in the street, swearing and jumping to the sidewalks when cars would come, dust kicking up as they ran.

She sat back in the chair, idly watching a soap opera, pretty people arguing over scripted problems, the characters and the actors having more money than she'd ever see. But it wasn't bad, sometimes, to watch the problems of others. She lit a cigarette and watched some actor who looked like a young newscaster nearly cry because of a woman who looked like a Barbie doll that blinked.

Knock at the door. Small, tentative knock. She puffed on the cigarette, stretched, and went to the door.

"Johnny?"

It was Johnny, alright. Black gleaming hair, the bangs long and hanging over his eyes. Cut lip, torn shirt, fresh blood on his chin, more blood on the sleeve of his jean jacket.

"Syvia. Can I come in?" He looked down, wouldn't look at her. She stood back, opened the door wide to let him in.

"Your mom here?" he said, glancing around.

"No," He didn't say anything but relaxed a little, let out his pent up breath.

She sat back in the chair and he sat on the couch, started watching the stupid soap opera like he came over every day.

"Johnny?" She looked at the bright red blood still coming from his lip. He wiped it on his sleeve again but it kept bleeding. His shirt was torn at the collar, right where someone might grab it, someone like his dad.

He didn't answer but looked at her with his large dark eyes, questioning her back.

"How come you're not at Ponyboy's house?" She knew he was pretty good friends with him.

"Uh, he's not home. No one's home there,"

She kind of couldn't believe he had come here. She watched the blood, how it looked on his tan skin, how it bothered him and he wiped at it almost angrily. One of his eyes looked a little puffy, and it wasn't as wide open as the other one. His dad did it, she was pretty sure. Socs tended to be a little rougher, wanting to kill greasers and not just hurt them. No. It looked like Johnny had just gotten some good old fashioned discipline. Spare the rod and all that.

He was watching the T.V., or pretending to. Just hiding out here away from his old man. She felt used. Friends, her ass. Then she remembered Steve, and she was certain he'd tried to blow her off at his instruction.

Well, he'd fucked with her. She'd fuck with him right back. Slowly she licked her top lip and turned from watching Johnny to watching the soap opera.


	9. Chapter 9

So Johnny was hurt and needed some place to go. Sylvia took a drag of her cigarette and let the smoke out slow. Fine with her. She glanced from him to the T.V. He wasn't looking at her, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. She couldn't help her attraction, what with his wounded little looks and big dark eyes and how he seemed sort of shrunken into himself, such a wounded kid. The exact opposite of Dallas, with all his bravado and invincibility. Nothing could touch Dallas. But everything could touch Johnny.

She shook her head, trying to decide if she wanted to be mad at him about blindly following Steve's orders. She didn't really know. She blew her smoke out in a long stream, watching it follow the straight line and then slowly disintegrate. The T.V. had a glare from the sun so she could hardly see the soap opera anymore, she could only hear the tinny voices.

It occurred to her that she didn't like all these games so much anymore. Always dressing and acting in this certain way to get boys to want her. To lust after her. What was it? It wasn't love with any of them, it was just some immediate gratification that had no carry over, no lasting effect on her at all. It was only Dallas that she could say with any degree of certainty, it was only Dallas she loved. The rest of the boys were like fast food.

But here Johnny sat in her living room with his torn shirt and bleeding lip, his beginnings of a black eye. Ponyboy hadn't been home and so he had come to her. What did it mean? He'd pushed her away at the vacant lot the other night, he'd said he wanted to be friends. Was he maybe serious? Did he want to be friends with her? Glancing at him, at his tan skin and scared eyes, she realized she didn't know how to be anyone's friend.

She felt quiet, unsure. What did she say? How did she proceed from here? She didn't know how to be around boys without trying to seduce them. It was uncharted territory.

"Uh, Johnny?" she said, and watched him glance at her. She licked her lips. Friends. It would be something to maybe try. Maybe.

"What happened?" she said, pointing her cigarette at his injuries.

"My old man," he said, and shrugged.

"What did you do?" she said, feeling kind of like one of those wind socks twisting in the wind. This is what friends did, right? Asked about shit and expressed concern? She could do that.

"Nothing' " he said, looking down. Sylvia shrugged, crushed her cigarette out in the glass ashtray by her chair.

This trying to be friends was giving her a headache. She tried to watch the dumb soap opera for awhile but it just wasn't holding her interest. Johnny smoked a few cigarettes and didn't say a word. Figures she'd try and be friends with one of the quietest kids in all of Tulsa.

"Look, Johnny, the other day at the lot, you said you wanted to be friends with me. Was that true? I mean, do you really want that or are you just being all nice? Cause I thought we could try and be friends, but not if you're just lying to blow me off cause Steve Randall told you to. So be straight with me," It was an exhausting speech, one of the most honest things she's ever said to anyone. Once it was out of her mouth she wished she could take it back.

He looked at her with his wide eyes and that kind of quiet thoughtfulness he had. She waited for whatever it was he would say.

"I wasn't lying," he said. That was all he said.

"Okay," she said, and she felt like this friendship thing was an uncomfortable new dress. She didn't know if she'd ever get used to it.


End file.
